Turn It Off
by theNEWanias
Summary: Dark Jak has always posed a threat, but for the first time, he poses a threat to Jak and his quality of life. And as this problem persists, so does the poison Krew slipped him and his friends. If he can make this work, maybe he can win the race as well.
1. prologue

Obligatory disclaimer: in no way do I own the characters of Jak X. I only own Emery.

So, it has been a loooonnnggg time since I've written any fanfic. Please, I beg of you dear reader, go easy on me. Also, there is an OC but I guarantee she is no Mary-Sue, as I myself cannot stand them. This is an idea that came to me after beating Jak X the other day. I've done my best to keep the original plot intact. So please, read and enjoy.

* * *

"We _can't_ keep running into this, Jak," Emery spat. She was getting sick of coming so, so close to him...only to be pushed away by him. She knew, deep down, that it wasn't his fault, but it was difficult to take this kind of abuse with only a grain of salt. She looked over, and it was still staring at her, an odd lucidity buried in those jet-black eyes. "Can you even understand me when you're like this?" she asked.

The lucidity disappeared, and was promptly replaced with anger. That probably wasn't good in this situation. "Of _course_ I understand," the creature rasped back at her.

_Jak_, she reminded herself. _He's still in there_.

"I'm – I'm sorry Jak." Emery forced herself to look at him. Already he was fading back to normal: all that remained of the monster of before was the pallid skin and grotesque eyes...the eyes were always the last to go. "It's just hard..." When she looked up again, he was himself. It was comforting to see the pretty, blonde hair, the dark blue eyes.

Jak settled himself on the opposite edge of the bed. Like he didn't feel bad enough already? That she had to patronize him for something he only _wished_ he could control just made everything worse. "Then we can't do this at all," he told her, not meanly but purely in truth.

The two stared at one another, motionless for a long time. Finally, Emery drew in a deep breath and beckoned Jak to the middle of the bed. "No, really, let's try this again."

Jak heaved a sigh of frustration, but moved inward. They clasped hands tightly, and gazed at each other in hope, in longing. _Maybe we can get it right, this time_, they each thought.

Emery made a point to skirt around Jak's lips with hers – in punishment or in pure jest was anyone's guess. Her kisses grazed his ears, his face, his neck...Jak felt a spark of Eco dislodge when her teeth pried gently at the skin on his clavicle.

_No_, he forced his darker counterpart down. How was he supposed to enjoy this when he had to focus so much on controlling himself? Wasn't half the point of sex losing yourself with someone? How could he achieve that if he was on constant guard?

_I'd never hurt her_, breathed the monster.

_I don't trust you_, Jak growled back. And he had more than good reason for his animosity.

_She has to learn to love all of you_, the demon reminded him reproachfully. _Or she doesn't love you at all...just like all the others_.

"Aaagh!" Jak ripped himself away from Emery, and he watched her golden eyes for signs of fear. That's not what haunted her though. Rather, she looked hurt. Hurt and frustrated as she watched him transform again. "I'm sorry," he gasped, unsure if the words would even reach the surface. "So sorry." Preoccupied as he was, he wasn't able to look up when he heard the door slam.

_I hate you_, he thought to the beast that had found its way out for the third time that night.

_You should learn to love me too,_ it told him mockingly.

Emery stood outside, hoping for the night air to clear her head. She liked him, she really, really liked him...but was it worth it? Was the pain and the frustration really worth it? _I can't even be close to him_, she thought wistfully. The moon was waning over the churning ocean and vaguely in the back of her mind, Emery thought about how she should go to bed. She had a race the next morning. _A race against Jak_, she remembered reluctantly. The better part of her knew she should drop out, but her pride wouldn't allow it.

She knew that in the end, she would have to let it go, that she would be forced to forfeit – that is, if she wanted Jak to live. If she thought their relationship was strained now, she didn't think that his death would help things. _But how am I supposed to improve things if he can't hold himself in check_? She wondered.

Having calmed down considerably, Emery wandered quietly back into Jak's bedroom. He was still sitting up, waiting for her despite the late hour. He was still naked too, she couldn't help but notice.

He coughed once. "Do you want to try again?" he suggested gruffly.

_This shouldn't be work_, she thought. "No," she sighed. "Let's just go to bed. We've got one hell of a day ahead of us tomorrow." Emery crawled beneath the covers and discarded her shirt, coming to match her would-be lover. They slept together every night...but they'd never really _slept together_. They couldn't...every time they tried, _he_ came out.

"I won't hurt you if you won't hurt me," he promised the way he did every time they had to race against one another. He smiled despite himself.

"Same," she returned. There had been nights where she hadn't said anything.

"I still love you," he told her in the dark.

Nothing this time. She chose to answer him with a long moan instead, pulling herself against him and settling herself in the crook of his neck. She wanted to smell him all night long. She loved the smell of him.

"Goodnight," he offered.

"Goodnight Jak." She knew she'd be drifting off beside him soon enough.

* * *

Let me know if I should go on, please and thanks (:


	2. Chapter One

_A few months earlier..._

That was her, the girl from the track. _The girl who beat me_, thought Jak bitterly. She sauntered up to the bar, clearly still smug from her victory. Jak wondered if she recognized him, or if he should say something to her.

She sat down a couple seats down from Jak, and placed her order. Patiently waiting, she seemed to take no notice of him. Something inside willed him to scoot over and get her attention. "Nice show you put on today," he said. He was, in a word, pissed.

The girl turned sharply and studied him suspiciously with vivid, yellow eyes. Her dark hair fell forward and framed her pale face, almost as a precaution. "Do I know you?" she asked. Her voice was soft, wary.

"Not really," Jak answered, "but you almost killed me today."

Her eyes narrowed in slow recognition. "Oh," she smiled, "you're the kid I wiped the track with." She took a swig from her mug and wiped her lips unceremoniously. "You were pretty good too."

Her use of the word 'kid' riled him up a little. Who was this chick? "Thanks," he snarled, "but I'd say you should watch yourself. I'm in this race for the win."

"Well obviously so am I," she told him calmly. Another swig, another swipe.

At that moment, Daxter chimed in. "What's a hot thing like you doin' racing for Mizo anyway?" It was the same thing Jak had been thinking, but had been unwilling to wonder aloud.

For the first time since he'd seen her, the girl looked affronted. "I _don't_ work for Mizo." She sounded mortally offended.

"Well you must be working for someone," Jak accused, "because _nobody_ races like that for free." She'd made three kills and had injured several more than that. Jak counted himself lucky to not be included in her massive tally.

"_That's_ none of your business, kid," she told him. "And it isn't nothing: have you _seen_ the prize money?"

"I've seen my fair share," Jak conceded. "But it doesn't seem like enough motivation for all those kills."

"Judging from your performance today, you're not above it either," she smirked. In spite of himself, Jak was marginally charmed by her. _She's an obstacle_, he reminded himself.

"I'm not in it for the money," he nearly whispered. He peered coolly at his own fingers rather than meeting her amber gaze.

"Good for you," she affirmed before returning to her drink. Jak gave her a calculating once-over before paying his tab and heading back to HQ.

oOo

Later in the week, as Jak was doing some last-minute checks on the Road Blade, the girl from the bar approached him on the track. She pulled up beside him in a sleek, black Javelin X. It looked less like a race car and more like a piece of artwork.

"Nice wheels," Jak shouted over the rumble of her twin engines. "Too bad I'm gonna' destroy you on the track today."

"We'll see about that," she told him. She didn't seem very intimidated, but she was contemplating him with a subdued determination. "You're good," she finally admitted, "but how good?"

_Is that a challenge_? Jak thought. Something inside him clicked into place, and a _euphoria_ welled inside the pit of his stomach. Choosing not to answer her, Jak got in his car and turned the ignition.

From his shoulder, Daxter pried: "Aren't you gonna' give her what-for, Jak?"

"Nah, let's show her up on the track," he insisted.

Driving had become second nature to Jak; more often than not, he didn't need to be completely enveloped in the moment. Shifts and gears and turns had become automatic, and he only occasionally needed to pull focus on the track. The other racers congregated at the starting line and Jak could see Torn in the stands. He wasn't racing today, but he'd be keeping a close eye on the team.

"You're up against that girl today, Jak. You gonna' take her on?" Torn's voice crackled through the car's speakers.

"I'll be fine," Jak answered curtly. He looked over, glancing at What'sherface one more time. She didn't look up at him. She didn't even seem to know that he – or anyone else – was there. She was focused solely on the track ahead of her, eyes wide and body still as death.

The lights went down and Jak hit the gas. Hitting a turbo right out of the gate, he secured himself a position up front easily. Acutely aware of who surrounded him, he tried to make sure he didn't mark any of his comrades. He'd personally reached a point within the race where he no longer cared about winning on a personal level – as long as his team reached the very last finish line, as long as they won the antidote, he really didn't care.

As usual, he drove beyond well, taking care not to take out his teammates if he could help it, but something else happened: he couldn't seem to take out the girl from the bar. Every so often, they would close in on one another, and while she'd put more than a few dents in his car, he couldn't bring himself to take her down.

"Jak, what are you _doing_?" Torn radioed in.

"I'm racing," he answered. The track around him seemed to be lost and all other racers had dropped from his concern.

"Yeah and you're losing!" Torn sounded furious, and for good reason, Jak supposed.

"Not for long," he promised.

"Take – her – _out_."

Jak groaned; his insides churned at the thought of hurting her. Usually this wasn't a problem, but there was just _something_ that kept him from chucking missiles at her bumper – the bumper he was currently kissing on the track. Thinking about that stirred enough anger around inside him to edge his finger towards the gun.

In front of him, Emery wasn't too shocked to hear the _peltpeltpelt_ of bullets on her car's sleek exterior. She chuckled. "Finally, a challenge." Changing gears, she surprised Jak by pulling behind him and releasing a much less merciful tactic on him.

"_Whoa_," Jak swerved on the track, taken by surprise by the Eco-charged grenades that hit the tail of his Road Blade. For a millisecond, he swore he could hear her laughter as she passed him and skirted towards the finish line. "I don't think so," he growled. Pulling ahead, he stepped on the gas as hard and heavily as he could. It wasn't too long before he caught up with her, but it was nearly too late: ahead of them, the finish line loomed.

Emery turned back and saw Jak's blue eyes narrowed in concentration, his teeth gritted against one another. "Get off my _ass_," she muttered. But there was nothing she could do – if she pulled back again, she'd lose the race.

Meanwhile, Jak was gaging the distance between his turrets and her tires. With one last, well-aimed fire, he showered the back of her car with bullets, taking out two of her tires. He did his best to suppress a skip of fear that forced its way into his chest as he watched her veer dangerously to the left and scrape the side of a steel wall. At an agitated pace, she skidded across the finish line not long after him.

Of course, the larger part of him was feeling pretty smug. The initial relief he felt of crossing the finish line had morphed into an ecstasy, a high like no other. Other members of his team crowded around him – Daxter was the first to find him.

"Great racing Jak – not bad for driving solo." Daxter scampered up to his shoulder.

"That was close," said Torn, and for a moment Jak thought he was going to get criticized. "But you came through for us, buddy."

Jak figured it wasn't necessary to remind everyone that his life was at stake as well.

But after the crowd had receded, and after Jak was nearly alone, Emery approached him. "_Hey_!" She yelled after him, stopping him on his way out. "You owe me a new paint job," she accused, gesturing at the damage he'd done. Her face was set in stone but there was a slight sparkle in her eyes that told him she was joking.

Jak turned around to face her.

"What're ya' doing, Jak? Let's go!" Daxter whispered in his ear.

Jak didn't answer him. Instead, he let his lips tug up in the smallest grin before offering, "Will a few drinks cover my debt?"

She seemed to consider him shrewdly for a moment, lifting two fingers to her chin.

"What's your name, anyway?"

This made her snicker. "My name's Emery, and you'd have to cover my tab for a _month_."

Jak rolled his eyes. "Just tonight...maybe tomorrow if I'm feeling guilty," he teased. In truth it was a valid offer – an excuse to see her without that tough scowl on her face.

"I'll take you up on that," she agreed. They were side-by-side now, and on the way out, she gestured to Daxter. "What's with the rat?"

"_Hey_, I'll have you know, sister, _I'm_ a Precursor!" Daxter said indignantly from Jak's shoulder. "And my name is Daxter."

"Well Daxter," she said, unfazed by his tall proclamation, "you're short and fuzzy. Excuse me for the mistake."

"No offense taken, sugar." As usual, Daxter was quick to put himself in the good graces of a pretty girl.

"What will happen to your car? It was nice," said Jak in a placid sort of voice.

"Yeah, it _was_," she sighed. "My mechanic will fix it up for me, so I'm not worried. He's good – really good."

_Not as good as Keira, I bet_, Jak thought, but kept it to himself.

"Besides, I've got three more." When she saw Jak's brows knit together and his eyes widen, she added, "I only race two of them. The third..." and here, her voice quieted, "the third was a gift."

"Must be one hell of a car." Jak threw her a sideways glance.

"Yeah. So," she shifted uncomfortably, "what are you prepared to pay for?" Her smile had returned.

"Enough," he allowed.

She grinned and punched him lightly in the arm. "Thanks."

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reviews = another chapter :)


	3. Chapter Two

I don't own Jak & Company, but you knew that already :)

* * *

Emery peered into her cracked, dusty mirror. She pulled at an eyelid, inspecting the redness beneath and sighing. Was that the ghost of a wrinkle there, in the corner? Emery had never considered herself to be 'pretty.' She wasn't ugly either. She was normal. She had a straight nose and evenly spaced eyes; her cheeks were in just the right place and she had escaped inheriting her late father's cleft chin.

Stepping into the shower, she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection on the smooth glass door. She wasn't as thin as her sister had been. Her sister had been gorgeous, delicately shaped and almost floral in a way. But Emery didn't like to think about her late sister, either.

Emery was neither thin nor delicate. Personally, she thought her body was kind of odd: her shoulders were sharp and bony, but she was rather busty – she had been a late bloomer, but when puberty finally hit, it had done so with a vengeance. Up until the end of school, all the boys had called her "Pirates Favorite," or 'sunken chest.' Of course, when one day she awoke to two mounds the size of grapefruits on her chest, the boys' teasing took a very different turn, and she'd accepted it much more readily.

She mulled this over quietly as she washed beneath her breasts, remembering fondly the catcalls and lude compliments that had brightened those days. She felt her ribs inquisitively, always confused at how scrawny the upper half of her torso felt in comparison to the rest of her. It was as if nature had gotten half way through making her, and all of a sudden changed its mind: from the hips down, it was as if an explosion had taken place. Her hips were round, her legs were full and muscular, and her backside was nothing short of what some might call luscious. In her mind, Emery's body was severely disproportionate and her face was plain. But she strongly suspected that was why people mistook her for beautiful: everything on her face was where it ought to be, nothing out of proportion. And she supposed her ridiculous body shape was looked upon as _exotic_ or whatever the hell it was her mother had once called her.

But if there was anyone she didn't want to think about, it was her late mother. Instead, as the water ran hot and soapy over her back, she closed her eyes and wondered if Jak was as hungover as she was. Their round of drinks the night previous had been plentiful, if not overextended. She wondered if he was still in bed, trying to push out a headache or fending off nausea. Or maybe he was tending to breakfast, searching for something to absorb the stomachache while brewing a strong cup of coffee. Perhaps he was in the shower, like her, but she didn't think she could stand to think about that either.

As Emery walked past the bathroom mirror, she wished to herself, _Papa, why didn't you give me the bump on your nose? Something to remember you by?_

oOo_  
_

In fact, Jak _was_ still in bed, but he was far from nursing a headache or enduring anything close to a pang of nausea. He never suffered the hangovers he so often deserved. At present, he was tossing and turning in bed, trying to go back to sleep, because in his dream he had come to Kras and rather than being poisoned, he'd just received a large bequest from Krew, and the worst of his problems was feeling guilty for having killed the fat old bastard...

"Jak..._JAK_!"

"Wha – !" Jak flung himself upright and grappled with the sheets, trying to get a hold of the Eco pistol he kept under the bed. Gathering his bearings, he realized that he was in no danger, only that Daxter was standing, arms crossed, at the foot of his bed.

"I like to sleep in as much as the next guy, but it's nearly noon."

It took a moment for the cogs to turn in Jak's head, but turn they did. "_Noon_?" He jumped out of bed as if he'd been stuck with a pin and stripped as easily as if no one was there. Daxter averted his eyes. As he scurried across the room, putting himself together, Jak wondered how he could have slept in so late. Surely he'd set his alarm? Why hadn't one of his teammates woken him? He'd miss the race! He could be the one to win! What the _fu _–

Jak burst through the door and was met with a wall of sound: the television was blaring, the radio was on; sounds poured out of the garage and he would have sworn the blender was going. Torn was sitting on the couch, his arms around Ashelin, his feet elevated onto the coffee table. He looked up at Jak's disturbance, a smirk crossing his heavily inked face.

"Where's the fire?"

"Why are you...? I thought we had a..." Jak sputtered, confused and far past disoriented.

"Today's race was canceled," Ashelin piped up, her eyes not leaving the television screen. "Somebody sabotaged the track." Her voice was grim, and it rang coldly through all the commotion.

Realizing what had just happened, Jak turned back into his room to find Daxter, but the little rodent had already run past him. "Sorry Jak! Couldn't resist!"

"Why _you_ –" Jak chased after his furry little friend until it led to the front door, which Daxter opened. As Jak made to pursue him onto the street, Daxter turned abruptly backward and locked Jak out. Not the least bit amused, Jak began pounding on the door, hoping someone would come along and hear him despite the incredible racket being made within.

"What are you doing!" a voice called across the street. Jak spun around and saw Emery, though he wouldn't have guessed it was her at first glance. She'd abandoned her usual motif and was wrapped in a green sun dress, feet tucked neatly into very beaten sandals. Her mocha hair flew loose around that pale neck.

Jak fumbled a little, embarrassed by his situation. "Got, uh...got locked out," he confessed. He reached behind his neck and scratched slowly, nervously. Passerby went about their day, uncaring. Emery crossed the street to him. She was smirking too, but hers was sweeter, more amused and less malicious than Torn's usual affair.

"So are you just going to wait around then?" she asked. "Because I have errands to run, and I was thinking of grabbing lunch...and it will look less pathetic if somebody comes with me." But she was smiling.

_How could you ever look pathetic_? Jak caught a part of himself saying, and he had a good idea of which one it was... "Yeah, I'll come with you. I've got nothing better to do," he added, "with the race being canceled and all."

She rolled her eyes.

Together, they strolled down the street, Jak following her barely a step in stride. Every few minutes she would cast him a sideways glance, appraising his appearance. "Do you always dress for a race?" she threw out tactlessly.

Jak mentally pulled back, surprised. "I didn't know the race was canceled til _after_ I'd gotten dressed, and I was already locked out.

"I see." A smile tugged at her lips.

"And what about you?" he demanded. "Do you always dress so...so...?" but he failed to find a criticism.

"So what?" she inquired, stopping to check out a fresh market. "So simplistically, so fabulous?" She picked up a fruit and gazed at it longingly. Of course, it was a little out of reach of her waning budget.

"So..._green_?" He was forced to settle on that, unwilling or unable to say anything that actually came to mind.

She laughed, a throaty, jubilant laugh. It filled her throat and poured out of her mouth and made passing strangers stare at them. Emery didn't seem to notice and Jak didn't really care. He watched her put down the fruit and move on, looking amused but a little bummed at her loss.

"Actually," she replied, "I prefer plum. But it's laundry day," she shrugged.

They turned a few more corners and crossed a few more streets until Jak was trailing behind her into a cheap, dingy indoor market. Emery strode gracefully up and down the aisles picking things up, inspecting them, groping them and eventually everything she touched found its way into her shopping bag.

"Why did you come here? With the prize money you earn, there's no way you have to settle for this?" Jak watched her, confused, as she weighed a couple of bruised Yakow cuts against one another.

Another smirk, only this one came closer to Torn's. "I've had to put a good deal of those earnings into that car you totaled." There was the unmistakable air of smugness in her voice; to really rub it in, she placed the more damaged piece of meat into her bag. Jak followed her uneasily into the dairy aisle. He was so used to Keira making repairs for free that he'd forgotten how much it cost to have a car – to have _three_ cars, in Emery's case.

"Is there any way I can make it up to you?" Uncertain why, Jak found himself eager to repay her.

"Well today's race earnings would have been grocery money, but..." she took her sweet time thinking about it. "Buy me lunch?" she shamelessly suggested.

"Done."

Emery smiled. She knew _just the place_.

oOo

It was the tablecloth, Jak decided, that made him feel out of place. It was pristinely white and soft as a rabbit's ear. The sparkling water in stemmed glasses didn't help matters much, either. But Emery seemed quite at ease among the finery, and when asked to order she did so very confidently. Jak didn't try to find the items she'd selected on the menu – he'd rather wait for the bill to come so that maybe the heart failure would kill him.

"So...why here?" he asked stiffly, looking past her at the waterfront view and wondering vaguely if that might affect the price tag of this little outing.

Emery's star-like eyes met his in a challenging sort of way. In a low, almost seductive growl, she said, "Just to screw with you."

Jak felt his face turn red, but he quickly subdued himself. He wasn't sure if he was more angry or impressed.

"I don't usually come to places like this," she told him, "but I figured, _If I'm not paying_..." What she failed to mention was that the multiple forks, the white linen and the perfect little centerpieces...they reminded her of home. Or, of how home _used_ to be.

Jak didn't have anything else to say, so he let it be. He found that, strangely, he could be in silence with Emery and not feel obligated or awkward. She didn't trouble him with the same expectant stare Keira did, and she didn't penetrate him with the guilt-ridden, stolen glances that Ashelin was so partial to. At the moment, she wasn't even looking at him. She was looking through him, at the table behind theirs. Her eyes filled with recognition and she ducked behind her mass of hair.

"Oh _damn_..."

"What?"

But what it was strolled right on over to their table. "Vell, vell, this _is_ unexpected! How delightful! How long has it been? Are you going to pop the question Jak? Grand place to do it, too." Razer had sidled up to them, lit cigarette in his gloved hand and a ghastly grin plastered onto his face. "You know, Emery is a tough nut to crack – however did you do it?" he asked. But there was an edge beyond sarcasm in his taunting. Was it annoyance?

"For your information, _Razer_, this is just two friends on a lunch date. And you're wrong – this is a _horrible_ place to pop the question."

For only a millisecond, Razer looked offended. Then his grimy smile eased back into place. He blew out a puff of smoke. "Vell I suppose it's for the best that you're not together. After all, how nasty it would be, when you'd be forced to destroy each other on the track. Ah well," he said, turning his back on them, "young love."

Emery glared as she watched him leave. Jak wondered if she'd forgotten he was there, if she'd forgotten the rest of the world even existed. The look on her face could have killed most of death row.

"You okay?" Jak asked.

"Fine," she spat. "Let's go, Jak. I've lost my appetite."

They stood to leave, and silently Jak was thrilled not to have to see a check.

* * *

I know it's taken me a while to update this, but leave me some reviews and I promise it will keep those plottsels a-crackin'!


	4. Chapter Three

"What the hell was _that_ about?" Jak asked. It was now that he was realizing Emery's hand was clawed around his upper arm, digging in painfully. He didn't take it away.

Emery's mouth was trembling like she might not know what to say or how to say it; her bright eyes were wet but she refused them the satisfaction of blinking; her face was drained of all color, leaving her looking ghostly. Finally she blinked, but it was hard as she swallowed the lump in her throat. "Nothing. It was nothing. Razer's just an ass."

"Well yeah," Jak straightened himself up, "but anyone could see that from a mile off." Her lightning gaze pierced him, but alongside the anger there were still those damn tears. Clearly, this wasn't what he was supposed to say. "What I mean is, uh..." Never good with words, Jak struggled to convey what was swimming around in his brain.

"Look, I'm having an off day. Go home."

He wasn't used to being dismissed. A spark moved within him before he could even have a say in the matter. All his careful sentences, so cautiously chosen, so preciously picked, were traded away for four stock words: "See you tomorrow, then." He watched her turn and leave him behind.

oOo

The place was crowded; heads turned in a sea of acrid smoke, music glided delicately through the speakers. Plush seats and golden filigree – it wasn't Emery's typical haunt, but she'd agreed to meet him here and, true to her word, she joined him at the polished bar in a little black dress, her hair pinned up. Two pearl drops hung from her long ears, looking out of place.

"You look ravishing." Razer sipped easily from an angled martini glass. He beckoned to the bartender, nodded at Emery and said "Get her something lady-like."

But she objected, "Actually, get me the hardest, driest thing you've got."

"Watch it," Razer warned, inspecting his cuticles, "I'm paying for that."

Emery leaned next to his ear and whispered, "We both know you owe me more than a lifetime of bar tabs."

He chuckled. Emery's gut twisted in knots. "I'd be _happy_ to repay my debt. Although, if I recall correctly, it was _you_ who stood _me_ up." He chased the olive around his glass lazily. "Now, to business," he commanded.

Emery settled stiffly on a barstool.

"What _are_ you doing with that Jak? He's bad news, you know." Taking out a sleek silver cigarette case, he lit one up and gazed at her.

"I guess if I was ever going to trust you about something, bad news would be it," she spat, gulping down the hard liquor. She waited, gathering her thoughts. "He wrecked a car. One of mine. He owes me."

"Do you always coerce adversaries into making up for damage done to a car? Is that what you had me doing all those –?"

"Stop," she cut him off, and she watched him blow smoke out in self-satisfied rings.

But after only a moment's hesitation, he trudged onward. "Because if you're holding him to the same bargain, then I suppose I'm too late." Razer punctuated his sentence by draining his martini and pushing the glass across the bar to its harried tender. He posed Emery with a mockingly concerned glance.

She cocked her head to the side and facing the gleaming bar, said, "You're as spiteful now as you were a year ago, aren't you?"

"Aren't you?" he returned nonchalantly.

"I think I have a little more reason."

He didn't chuckle this time. For a moment, all the noise, all the chaos that surrounded them appeared to have died, and they were alone in the bar. For a moment, it was how things once had been, save for the mood was now sour rather than savory and sweet.

But in another moment, everything returned to normal. "I take it you're not giving him a tour beneath your hood, then?" Razer started in on another martini. "A shame really – he's rather good-looking; a nice addition to your collection."

"_Collection?_" she growled, cocking a slim eyebrow.

"You man-eater, you," he teased, lifting her chin with his index finger. She tore it from his touch. "Pity, you always used to like it when I did that."

"That was before I knew you had a hand in my vendetta with Mizo."

Razer shifted uncomfortably against the bar, cigarette going out from inattention. "You're not going to settle that debt with _me_, are you?" His voice teetered on the brink of anxiety. He knew her well enough by now.

"No, not since you retired." And this was two things at once: an answer to Razer's inquiry as well as a blow to his ego. "I'm not a murder," she finished, simply to drive the point home.

"Oh? Really?" He was on the defensive now. "Your score earnings speak otherwise, my dear."

"Racing is different!" Emery's infamous temper flared and she knocked over her drink. The bartender toweled down the pungent puddle and fetched her a new glass. "That isn't murder, that's competition – that's fair." Now _she _was on the defensive. "That's in the contract."

"I see," he shrugged, flicking his cigarette her way. "So because there's a signature and some fine print at the bottom, that means it isn't the destruction of a life. Hmm, interesting."

"I don't know why I agreed to see you tonight!" she snapped angrily.

"I think you do." Razer's lips curled into a sneer, and he ran his fingers down the pale length of her arm.

Disgusted, she turned her back on him and marched out of the bar and into the street, wishing she could go back and level him.

oOo

_Why is she looking at me like that?_ Jak wondered. He was rumbling along a race track, and Emery was in the passenger side seat, her expression terrified and frozen. But when he tried to speak aloud, his words growled off the tip of his tongue like the cry of a caged animal. And in her eyes, Jak saw himself reflected, a monster.

He dared to chance a look into the rear-view mirror and sure enough, staring back at him, there were a pair of black, endless eyes. In that moment, a shriek ripped itself out of his throat and he lost control of the car, and the two went careening off a ledge and into the churning waves below...

When Jak woke up, he was partway normal, partway beast: his skin was transitioning before his eyes and when he glimpsed himself in the reflection of his window, there was a spit-second where his Dark counterpart stared back at him, aghast with his own stricken visage. But the eyes – it was those eyes, so full of hate.

"Hey Jak," Daxter peered from over the edge of the bed. "You okay, buddy?"

Jak nodded, grunting noncommittally. It had been a very long time since he'd lost control like this. And in the back of his mind he could feel himself settling, feel the Light reaching out to balance him. "Just a bad dream. Night, Dax." Jak turned onto his side, but he couldn't fall back asleep. _What the hell was that about? _he wondered. Moonlight sprawled across his bed, illuminating the crinkled covers in odd ways and creating fragmented shadows and half-monsters.

And then, something deep within him shifted. _You gotta' learn how to let me take the wheel sometimes_.

Jak cringed, the pain of defeat subduing him into sleep.

Across town, Emery was sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning between the stages of dreams and wakefulness. A pain in her side. A creeping headache. An oncoming sneeze...it was as if her body was fighting her the whole way. Something wasn't right, but as soon as she could identify it, it would mutate and disperse itself to another part of her. Her thoughts dissipated in and out of clarity, but there was _one_ thought that made itself unmistakably and inescapably clear: _Jak_. It was like a nagging, tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach, like a truly persistent bout of indigestion.

Emery sat up in bed. She rearranged her pillows, removed a few layers of sheets and burrowed back into her bed. Of course, like clockwork, she was dislodged in a matter of minutes, returning the discarded covers and reshuffling her pillows. This time, she also made sure to lay on her side in search of some comfort.

Comfort never came.

The itching and nagging climbed slowly through her ribcage and it radiated down to her ankles, pinching and paining like some sort of stringent disease. The nagging was getting stronger and stronger, edging closer to an unbearable mutiny. With a great _harrumph_ she threw herself out of bed and into the night, Kras laid out below her. In the distance, a huddle of thunderclouds lumbered toward the city, ominous and foreboding. But, the storm was still a good way across the ocean, and Emery wasn't worried about it. Her thoughts were still with Jak. They were stray thoughts, random and disconnected, it seemed to her. Thoughts about his strategies – they were very basic and he almost never thought out of the box. But maybe that was why he was so successful; nobody ever expected an unembellished tactic. Thoughts about his mannerisms – Jak had this way of stretching his neck, cracking it before each and every race. Loosening himself up, she supposed. Thoughts about his hair, his eyes, the sound of his voice...

Emery caught herself, eyes closed, tightly gripping the convoluted rail of her makeshift balcony. These were thoughts she knew, but didn't care to acknowledge. These were the same thoughts she'd once had about another man...

"No." Emery spoke the word aloud, into the air around her, as if to deny both herself and the universe a chance to challenge it. She thought back to a year before, to that white tablecloth and that candlelit dinner and that gloriously beautiful diamond ring...a diamond ring, she reminded herself, that was begotten with criminal money. She'd had enough of _that_ sort of life. Her entire happy childhood had been forged off of ill-gained fortune and ruthless slaughter; bad deals and secret gambles. Nothing of her life had been born of an honest day's work, not until _after_ the 'accident'...and even then, she owned a few possessions reminiscent of her of her roots.

Now, her thoughts left Jak completely, to join the car that sat, unused, in her garage. It taunted her, challenged her to get behind the wheel and dispose of it for good. To race it alone, against only herself and her pride – to drive it off the pier and abandon it in the ocean, bait for the imminent storm.

As if in a trance, Emery followed her own feet down the rickety staircase, into the garage, and into the driver's seat of the red Tempest V10. It was the first time she had ever sat in its black leather interior; the first time she had ever grasped the custom-fit steering wheel; the first time she had ever experienced the mixed emotions of being in a car she did not rightfully own.

She would have to find a way to thank Razer.

* * *

thanks for reading; if you want me to continue, you know what to do :)


	5. Chapter Four

It was just beginning to rain, and the drops that pounded across Jak's windshield barely masked the sound of his heartbeat. _I lost_, he mourned silently, hardly grateful for the fact that Ashelin had saved this race. Something deep within – was it pride? – bubbled up to his skin, curdled inside his stomach.

The car that belonged to the victor sat a few feet beyond the finish line. Its owner had yet to step out and reveal himself, but he was _clearly _a part of the Mizo team – or a hired gun, at any rate. 6G Turbo Boost, patented nitro tanks...everything down to the tinted windows was state-of-the-art. The door of the crimson Tempest opened, a boot emerged. Then a leg. Then...

"_Emery_?" Were it not attached to his skull, Jak's jaw might have fallen to the floor. He knew she had clout, but really. A _Tempest V10_? That was a check even the aristocracy couldn't cash. What did she _have_?

The tapping on his window snapped him from his reverie. He rolled it down reluctantly. "Follow me; drinks are on me tonight. I want to talk."

Jak nodded and rolled up the window, then revved his car back to life.

oOo

The streets were spattered with grime as the rain washed over them. Jak kept close behind as Emery crossed the street. He'd expected the Bloody Hook, or maybe some other bar of choice, but she'd led him into another part of town. Crooked buildings towered against the clouded night skies and the pavement was broken in all manner of places.

"You locked yours, right?" she asked over her shoulder, raising her voice to the storm.

"Obviously," he shouted back.

She smiled. She fumbled with a key at the door of one of the less cockeyed walk-ups, and Jak realized...

"Taking me home?" he joked nervously.

The lock clicked and the door creaked open. "Just for tonight," she smirked. It was impossible to tell if she was joking or not.

He followed her up a narrow staircase and into a dark foyer. She scrambled with yet another set of keys, this time with quicker success. They bumped into one another, chuckling awkwardly until she found the light switch. He found himself surrounded by pale, green walls in an L-shaped room. In one corner, there was an impressive television propped on top of a beaten stack of crates. Opposite this was a moth-eaten sofa, maroon. The air was thick and heavy-laden with an earthy, musky smell. It was pleasant, if not a bit overwhelming.

"So, let me get this straight," he stepped away from the door, waiting for an invitation to sit. "You own some of the best cars on the market – one of them a Tempest V10 – but you live _here_?"

"Hey." She moved into the kitchen, but her voice carried easily in the small space. "Don't dis the walk-up." Privately, she compared her four-room suite with the glorious home of her childhood. _It isn't worth it_, she reminded herself.

"Sorry." Jak dropped onto the couch, bored with waiting.

Emery emerged from the the kitchen with a bottle of wine in hand. Jak couldn't shake the uncomfortable pull of caution from his chest. "Make yourself at home," she teased, popping the cork. She poured them each a glass and sat beside him, glass held in a gesture of cheers.

"Ladies first," he insisted.

"God, you're paranoid," she frowned, gulping two thirds of her wine.

"You have no idea." Slowly, he took a layer off his own glass. "So why'd you drag me here?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "I told you, Jak. I want to talk – and the conversation I have in mind shouldn't be had in a bar." Her eyes dubiously scanned the walls, as if they might be listening in.

"Okay..."

She inhaled deeply, pouring herself a generous amount of wine. "You want to know how I can afford those nice cars when I live in a slum; you want to know why I hate Razer –"

"I think I know _that_."

"_Don't _interrupt me."

"Sorry," he found himself scrutinizing his shoes, chastised.

She paused, her eyes trained on her wineglass, troubled. "I'm not sure where I should start."

Trying to be helpful, he suggested, "How about the beginning?"

She chortled. "My father," she began, "he worked for Mizo. He was one of his best – and highest paid – men." She didn't look up from her wine. She didn't want to see Jak's face. "But one day, when Daddy couldn't deliver..." she bent her head low and blinked back her tears.

Jak reached out a hand but hesitated just before her shoulder. Instead, he let it rest on the back of the couch beside her. "I'm sorry."

She waved him off. "My money's an inheritance. And that's why I won't work for Mizo." Her voice rose from the ashes of grief, gaining a blaze. "He killed my family and he destroyed my life. Every chance I ever had at happiness...he took it from me."

"So you're out for revenge." Jak's stomach churned.

She took a sip of her wine. "Yes."

_Mizo won't be the only one to take something from you_. He thought in agony of the poison that coursed through his and his friends' veins. To try and distract himself, he asked, "Why did your father work for Mizo?"

"That's easy," she responded, "it paid well. _Very well_. Jak, I lived a fantasy childhood. My sister and I never wanted for anything, and we were handed success – she was engaged to the son of a politician and I was being groomed for one of Mizo's men...a gesture of thanks, I suspect," she sneered.

"That's horrible. Why would your father offer you up like that?"

Her eyes seared into his, and he knew he'd said the wrong thing. "My father wanted a promising future for me... an extension of my childhood, no doubt."

A long and awkward pause passed between them as Jak considered how to best avoid digging a deeper hole. He wanted to touch upon all this new information, but he didn't want to offend her yet again. He consulted his glass for some inspiration. "How about that Tempest then? That's a pretty sweet ride."

Emery tensed. Stiffly, she set her glass on an end table. "It was a gift." Her tone hardened into ice. "It was given to me by Mizo's suitor."

At a loss and dimmed by alcohol, Jak became frustrated. He wanted to express his interest without making an ass of himself, but he didn't want to do any further damage. Clearly sharing all these things was taking a toll on her. He swayed a little, shrinking the gap between them. "Sorry, I just..." and before he could tell which way was up or down, he was pressing his lips just shy of her mouth.

There was a beat before she shoved him backward. "Jak...you should go home."

"I'm not driving."

"Please," she begged him, "sober up, then go home. I shouldn't have taken you here. Go home, Jak." Then she left him, disappearing into the hallway, the rickety floorboards giving her away with every step.

When he finally trudged into his room back at HQ, Daxter was waiting for him. "Where have _you _been?"

"Drinking." Jak flopped onto his bed, fully clothed.

"You shouldn't drink alone, Jak," Daxter taunted. But behind the humor there was concern.

"I didn't," he said into his pillows.

"Oh! Who is she? Is she hot?"

Jak groaned. "Goodnight, Dax."

oOo

Emery rather liked that Jak had tried to kiss her – or at least, that's what the fluttering just below her navel told her. On the other hand, the uncomfortable squirm of her stomach made it very clear that she rather _disliked_ the meaning her liking it had. It was a difficult, multifaceted jumble of feelings, all matted on top of one another and yet forever shifting. This muddy pastiche that Jak had awoken in her rearranged so many priorities. Suddenly, revenge took a backseat to want, which still had _some_ place behind winning...but then that was subverted by all things potential: sex, love, simple joy. God, she hadn't had sex in a year.

_What am I thinking? _Emery scolded herself. She had to win the championship! She had to take Mizo down! She'd shoot him dead if she got the chance, come what may. _So_, said a voice inside her head, _you'll throw away the consequences for murder, but not for love. That's interesting_.

Decidedly, she would spend another good three hours twisting and turning in her sheets.

* * *

I apologize for how long this update took. I was suffering a little writer's block :/

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